


Dúlamán

by ThreadingStory



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Begone internalised misogyny, But we're not ashamed of that in 2020, Disabled Character, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Easterlings, F/F, F/M, Having fun with tropes, M/M, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, Political Alliances, Political Marriage, Probably a Mary Sue, Quarantine Baby, Slow Burn, The Avari, The Haradrim, Women In Power, for given value of marriage, internalized ableism, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreadingStory/pseuds/ThreadingStory
Summary: She was dragged under water.She was dragged out of the water by her foot.And then she was struck by lightning.Or-What happens if you wake up in a slightly familiar world, but you’re on the entirely wrong side of the continent?Why did Fëanor have to fuck up long-distance communication so bad?
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Boromir (Son of Denethor II)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53





	1. Oh gentle mother / Put the wheels in motion for me

The Captain howled "Heave ho, heave ho"

And tied me up with sheets

"A storm is brewing in the South"

"It's time to go to sleep"

\- In All My Dreams I Drown, Jessica Lowndes & Terrance Zdunich -

* * *

_Blue._

_Blue over and blue under, blue in the front and in the back, blue upside and downturned, blue pressing in, crushing, filling every molecule._

_There’s darkness hovering at the edges, but there’s no lighter blue, no hopeful greens, no shimmering crystal lightness, only blue._

…

“Alright, I gotta go so I catch my ride to the airport,” she panted into the phone, “See you in a day!”

The long-suffering sigh of her grandmother was her only answer for a moment. She knew better than to say anything and crammed her toiletries into the bag, slapping it shut.

“You’re still packing! The traffic in Los Angeles is always so…much, you’ll miss your flight!”

She sat on her bag, trying to flatten it. “Carlos is driving me and he’s super punctual. We’re leaving on time.”

“Who is Carlos?” _A boyfriend?_ was the unasked question.

Carlos, in all his effortlessly cool, dimpled glory, was standing in her doorway, exasperatedly motioning at his non-existent watch and then gave up, motioning for her to hold still.

“He’s my roommate. Ellie moved out, remember?”

“Oh yes, Ellie! She sent me a picture from her wedding. Very nice.” Carlos was struggling to pull the zipper shut around her squirming legs.

“Maybe when you’re here you’ll meet someone nice too.” Carlos was close enough to hear that and raised an eyebrow, grinning. Apart from being her new roommate, he was also a wonderful new presence of eye candy in her life, and well aware of it. ‘Nice’ he mouthed and waggled his eyebrows.

“Oh, I have to leave, we’re driving now, love you, see you soon, bye!” She breathlessly exclaimed, hitting the red button on the screen a bit forcefully.

“How badly would your granny skewer me if you tell her you’ve already met someone _nice_?” Despite his annoyance at her non-existent timekeeping skills, he was fully giving her overdramatic bedroom eyes now.

“She already survived my father marrying a good Irish Catholic girl, she’d only mildly castrate you.” She poked him in the chest to push him away, but he just grinned wider.

“Hmm, my Abuelita and her would be good friends. We could have a very, very Catholic ceremony.”

“Oh boy, yeah no. I love you, but no. That is a power duo the world would not survive,” she grinned and hopped down, throwing on her jacket and shoes.

Carlos, who of course had been completely ready to go twenty minutes ago, gasped while he waited, holding a hand to his heart, “You break my heart like this and then leave? How will I survive?”

“I think Sasha might be amenable to fixing your achy breaky heart,” she gestured towards their neighbour’s door as they started hauling her luggage into Carlos’ tiny car. Voice acting in Los Angeles gave them both a decent income, but it wasn’t big new car money.

Carlos actually blushed and ducked into the car like she couldn’t see it then. Cackling, she fastened her seatbelt and teased him about his burgeoning crush up until they had to say goodbye at security.

“Say hi to Rox from me.” Her sibling and Carlos hat hit it off immediately when Rox had visited shortly after Carlos had moved in and they were annoyingly cute about their friendship. “And don’t let your other five thousand siblings bully you into climbing palm trees again.”

“Yes and yes, mother hen. I promise not to come back with a broken arm this time,” she lifted three fingers in a scout’s promise, “If only because having one arm is better than having zero.”

After a bit of sceptical snorting and eye-rolling and hugging, she found herself whisked away in the airport rhythm, ready for some time away, and tried to psychologically prepare for a family vacation, if that was possible.

…

_Burning starts up, but it doesn’t shelter from the cold blue around, it hurts and hurts and hurts and there are Head and Arms, moving, grasping for an Above and Below._

_A flare of No I Won’t and Legs are kicking and masses of blue that grasp and pull and push still do not change, there is only movement and there is no air, but there is still No I Won’t and the burning, the burning, it must be Lungs._

…

Most family members who were able to make it would already have arrived, so she enjoyed the bit of time she had in the cab to doze. Nana and Granda were coming over as a last hurrah before they were too old to move their creaky joints (their words).

Halmeoni was actually happy to have the house full and had been planning via social media and video calls like she was running a military operation. Having been blessed by her only son with five grandchildren had kept her young and sharp, and even if her video calls were upside down sometimes, she still knew how to order everyone about.

While juggling auditions and gigs, she had done her job as the youngest and offered snarky commentary amongst siblings and used the doe eyes on the older generation where necessary.

Eoin as the oldest had helped out as much as he could from London, while juggling work, marriage and a baby, who some family members would be meeting for the first time. At this point his blood was definitely at least 80% Monster.

Of course Joon-ho who was based in Seoul and was physically the closest to Halmeoni, had whined the most while he picked up whatever Eoin had forgotten, and then he had nearly given himself an aneurysm by just barely remembering that he, too, needed to actually buy tickets to travel.

CD had hung back, letting the chaos do its work for him to fade into the background, only offering a pointed question here or there when the others were overseeing a minor detail.

Rox had basically shrugged, declared that they had finals, and just barely been coaxed into coming with offers of having travel paid for them. She couldn’t blame them. Things were still tense with Appa but then Mam had announced work would keep her in whatever remote bush forest she was filming in and Rox wasn’t above playing favourite with their parents.

Well, none of them were, realistically. They just went about it in different ways. Suddenly maudlin, she put on the bubbliest playlist she could find and tried finding her centre.

_I’m grateful I have enough of a career going that I could afford this. I’m grateful I can travel and see my family who is spread all over the globe. I’m grateful I get to see my grandparent’s home again. I’m grateful for, uh…the AC in this car._

Listing all the ways in which she could be positive actually worked by the time she arrived. After paying in her sadly slightly rusty Korean, she put her duffel bag on top of the rolling luggage, securing her backpack with straps in front of her chest. With her left hand she dragged the rolling monstrosity while her prosthesis dangled over her right shoulder on a strap that she carried around just in case. Cases like now, when she was sweaty and wired from travel and her skin itched.

When she found the street with the bus stop that had been their meeting point, it was empty. Because if you could bet on one thing, it was that the Bae-Doyle kids would never make it in time to anything. She sat down at the stop, catching her breath. Despite the closeness to the beach, the small town had _hills_.

Drinking the last of her water, she looked at the houses. Despite the long time, she recognized some houses she’d played in as a child, saw some renovations, heard a dog bark. Familiar but new enough to distract her until she heard her welcome brigade hurrying down the street.

She was immediately swept up in hugs by Oti, her sister-in-law, and Eoin hugged her a bit more carefully, trying not to crush his daughter who was strapped in front of his chest.

“She’s sleeping,” he whispered in greeting.

“Thank you. Couldn’t have told.”

He pinched her nose.

“Forgive him, we’ve had about two hours of sleep combined the last three days.” Oti giggled and picked up some luggage so she could walk elbow in elbow with her.

“And somehow you’re glowing because that magic motherhood glow bullshit is apparently true.”

Oti laughed but ducked her head, sending dozens of braids over her shoulders in silky movement. How she looked like this in the humidity of summer was a mystery. Maybe True Love or something.

Eoin huffed behind them. He was red-faced and sweating, so the True Love theory had to be discounted.

“Oh, calm down, Seong-Min, I won’t curse in front of Halmeoni, so I need to get it out now.”

“Granda has been cussing exclusively in Gaeilge since he arrived,” he offered her an out and a strategy of survival.

Their banter lasted all the way to the house, where more hugs and greetings descended in a flurry. She escaped the bilingual disapproving grandmotherly “Have you been eating?” inquisition only when she was dragged to where she’d be sleeping and then she begged off for a shower and a nap.

Dinner was a lively affair with everyone crammed around the rickety terrace table that had been there since at least before Joon-ho was born. Nana and Halmeoni had every intent of outcooking each other and feeding everyone their own weight in food. With every detail of everyone’s travel stories recounted, the evening dragged on with CD’s hobby barista skills finding multiple willing victims.

She leaned back in her chair, cold glass in hand, and let the chatter wash over her in the happy haze of a food coma.

The next morning, she woke up too early and restless, and she shivered in the surprisingly cool morning mist. The air smelled tantalizingly like sea salt, so she threw on a swimsuit, leggings, a sports bra with a racerback on top, and when the mist had only cleared into clouds, a light rain jacket. Hoping to sit down and let the sea inspire her, she tucked in a pen and mini travel notebook into the oversized pocket. Her phone went into its designated jogging arm utensil thingy and she was applying sunscreen in the hallway when her father passed by.

“You’re up early,” he observed.

“Good morning to you too, Appa,” she snarked gently, “I was hoping to catch a bit of sunrise panorama.”

He smiled in response, thinking. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure. Can you tie this?” She held out her prosthetic arm and shoved a plastic bag over it. He gently tied it off so it would stick to her skin but not cut off circulation.

“You could go without it if you don’t want sand to get in,” he said carefully. “This might get noisy.”

“Yeah, but I like the, uh, what’s that word? _Counterweight_ for the other arm,” she shrugged, slipping into English for a moment when she forgot the Korean term for counterweight. With that settled, she sipped some water while he got ready.

At his insistence, they both went to get hats and sunglasses. They leisurely warmed up and jogged to the beach which was mostly empty at this time of day, save for fellow joggers and people walking their dogs. After making their way around the wide curve of the beach in companionable silence, they took a break amongst some rocks, which she insisted on climbing on.

The clouds were gathering instead of lifting and she pouted over her dashed sunrise dreams. Appa gently laughed, reminding her that she’d have plenty of time to see it the coming weeks. When they got to the ground again, she wistfully looked towards the rest of the beach.

“I remember a cave from when we used to play back there,” she pointed at a small spit of land.

“I’m afraid I’m not up for jogging back plus that,” he saw her disappointment and chuckled, “Go explore. I’ll save you an extra big portion of breakfast.”

“And that’s why you’re my best and most favourite father,” she hugged him impulsively, enthusiastic at the prospect of at least getting to see one thing on her list today.

“I try.” His tone was dry, but he dropped a kiss on her forehead, and she laughed while she waved, jogging backwards until she nearly crashed into someone. Apologizing profusely, she was distracted enough by her embarrassment that the jog seemed a lot shorter than she’d estimated.

Luscious green trees were nestled in between big rocks here. A perfect place to play pirate island at eight years old, and also at twenty-eight. She picked her way through the uneven ground a lot more carefully than back then though. With a bit of wind cooling her down comfortably, she climbed around, found a couple seashells, and enjoyed the thickening vegetation until she realized there was no chance of finding her cave from hazy childhood memories.

The mini peninsula wasn’t so mini after all, and she knew her body’s limits. Turning around, she swallowed a bit of childish disappointment, and followed the path back. Wind was picking up and through the green she saw light clouds swirling into darker grey. She checked her phone grumpily, and the sun the weather app had shown yesterday had indeed been replaced by rainy clouds. Huffing, she grumbled to herself, staring at the ground so she wouldn’t slip. She would have completely missed it otherwise. Just a couple steps to her right, strings of seaweed were strewn on the ground in a near perfect circle on the light-coloured rocks around a tree.

Not one to resist a perfect Insta opportunity, she leaned against the tree and shot pictures from above, getting her feet in the green circle, and adding the peak of ocean through the trees from her vantage point. Corny as it was, she arranged the found seashells around her feet in a half circle within the seaweed. Maybe she’d caption it #seawitchminimalism or something equally facetious to balance out the earnest basicness of her soul. She’d wait to upload it until she was home though, no need to waste mobile data.

Nodding to herself, she looked up to notice that the wind was picking up something fierce. A raindrop on her forehead was her only warning before the skies opened and a torrent of water soaked her in moments.

“Aw, come on!” Squinting against the elements, she put her hood up over her hat, tying it closely around her face. It was impossible to see in this weather. The lure of food and dry clothes was stronger though, and she took tiny step after tiny step. She stepped out of the circle and dizziness hit her. Too much exertion on an empty stomach.

“Serves me right,” she grouched while trying to sit down, but the world was distinctly leaning more sideways and she stumbled over a rock. Her phone went flying out of her hand and instinct made her lurch towards it to catch it.

She was pretty sure she should have stepped on ground instead of air.

She was pretty sure the cliff couldn’t be that high.

She was pretty sure she saw surprised faces in the water as she crashed into it.

…

_In the midnight blue, there is light, there are Not Stars, there Is bioluminescence._

_That is important, to Know Things. To Be Things._

_There is No Light, No Cold, there only Is._

_Maybe there is a way to Be._


	2. Caidé thug tú 'na tíre? / What did you bring from the land?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First contact! Unnecessarily long descriptions of bathrooms!
> 
> No content warnings I can think of, but please do not hesitate to tell me if you notice something!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The world is still on fire, and injustice burns bright, if like me, you're feeling overwhelmed, google 'Here's How You Can Support the Black Lives Matter Movement, Even If You Can't Donate Money'. It helps an important cause to do small things, and many small people coming together to do small things can do big things! Galadriel had it right

And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat  
I tried to find the sound  
But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness,  
So darkness I became

Cosmic Love, Florence + The Machine

* * *

Roaring waves crashed on sand and stone, whipped up by strong winds, sending salty flecks of water everywhere. Sarnai shifted, letting her bare toes grip unto the slick stone she was balancing on. Sand bit against her skin where she had rolled up her pants. Her simple long-sleeved tunic offered a bit more protection against the elements, but it was still uncomfortable out in this weather. At least her mother had had the foresight of braiding her dark hair into two simple braids that would keep strong. Despite her stout build and well-trained muscles, she had to put in conscious effort so the wind wouldn’t just bowl her over. And wouldn’t that be embarrassing, today of all days.

“Are you ready, child.” Ganbaatar squinted at her, the wrinkles around her sharp dark eyes deepening. Her grey hair was bound back severely, adorned only by a single chain of jade cut into raindrop shapes interspersed by pearls. Everything else about her was splendidly made up, more jade, labradorite, and other gems in greens and blues on her fingers, in her beard, and around her neck, along with dozens of seashells, all ordered by colour and size in ways Sarnai was not taught in. After all, she was not a ceremonial mistress. Who knew, maybe when she started showing grey beard hairs herself, she might find herself on this path. But today, she was the one the ceremony was for.

“Ready to hear you call me child for the last time,” she said, realising Ganbaatar was actually waiting for an answer.

“Hmmpf.” A tap with Ganbaatar’s staff on the forehead in disapproval, as always. “We shall see, child.”

With that, the old dwarrow dam turned to the congregated members of ceremony. Sarnai’s friends and family all had come, the older ones giving her encouraging nods, the younger ones who had yet to pass their own age-days were grinning and giving useless advice.

Ganbaatar tapped the stone twice, loud enough to silence everyone. “Today, we are here for the coming-of-age-day of Sarnai, Daughter of Taika. As is tradition, she will test her mettle against the sea and show how her stone sense has grown in these past years of adolescence. She shall search for a token, and once she finds it, proving she is mature in body and soul this Mudtakrâsh-gamil will be her symbol of adulthood. Should she fail in this endeavour…”

Sarnai clenched her fist behind her back. Highly unlikely, it nearly never happened.

“She will be able to repeat the ceremony next year, with all the preparation that goes along with it.” Ganbaatar waved her hand about dismissively. “Considering how much she loves studying, I’ve no doubt she’ll do her best to avoid a repeat performance.”

Chuckles went through the group, as Sarnai tried not to roll her eyes. So she wasn’t the most scholarly person around. Who could blame her when there were so many other things that were just as important and indefinitely more interesting?

“Sarnai, step forward and receive your blessings.”

Her heart stumbled, beating faster, and she took a measured breath. The nervous energy coursing through her body could give her a boost if she just kept it together long enough.

The first one in the half circle around her was Master Asutri, who she’d apprenticed for nearly eight years now. His stern frown was softened today by a smile when he put his hands on her shoulder. His dark beard shimmered nearly blue under the cloudy sky, contrasting with his warm brown skin and the gold rings he had braided in. Usually a bit lax with his appearance, today he was wearing his full finery as a master of his craft. A gleaming armour with a breastplate with obsidian inlays and large war hammer on his back indicated his status as a renowned warrior. Sarnai couldn’t wait until she could make her own set of ceremonial pieces. Soon. So soon. She contained a grin and focused on his words.

“You’ve shown yourself capable in your craft, I’m sure you’re capable of finding a token. You will do well, I’ve no doubt” Straight to the point as always, which Sarnai appreciated. Her nerves were starting to flutter.

Next was her mother, laughter lines crinkling when she took her in. Taika was all round softness where Sarnai was hard edges, but they both had the same amber eyes. Taika’s were framed with kohl and emerald studs in her eyebrows, lending her a twinkle when she smiled.

“You are steady in your determination to overcome challenges and it’s a pleasure to see you grow into your own, sweetbeard.” Sarnai swallowed, blushing at the old endearment. Not knowing whether she should say something back, she bumped foreheads with her mother and let herself be hugged for a long moment.

When she freed herself, her friends were waiting with big grins and claps on her back and shoulders. Their blessings were a mix of encouragement and bad jokes. Soon she was passed on to relatives who stuck a bit more to protocol, and then everyone was done and she had to actually do it. She nodded to Ganbaatar who was waiting off to the side.

“Very well, it is time for Sarnai to find her anchor stone, so she might walk the sea and find a Mudtakrâsh-gamil. Off you go.” She waved her hand vaguely in direction of the ocean.

Sarnai tried to earth herself, closing her eyes. Underneath her feet, the stone sung. Letting it guide her, she finally grabbed a big rock that strained her arms. It was heavy enough. With a last glance at the encouraging faces around her, she walked towards the water. It was cold, whipping sand around her bare shins uncomfortably. The better her Mudtakrâsh-gamil would be, to find it in such conditions. Right. With a deep breath, she sunk into the waves and kept walking. The weight of the stone seemed lighter now, buoyed by the water, but it reliably kept her grounded on the floor of the ocean.

Her eyes burned and the lack of sunlight was a strain even for someone used to walking in the darkness of the stone. But she only had the time her lungs allowed, so she marched on, listening to the stone. Sand technically was thousands upon thousands of tiny stones, but it did not sing to her the way the rock in her hands did. To find the song underneath her feet, underneath the sand, that was the challenge.

Her anchor stone kept her from shooting upwards and was a weight she fought against at the same time. Despite diligently training every morning for the last months, every step was work. Finding purchase in the soft sliminess between her toes without stirring up so much sand her eyesight would become useless had always been the trickiest part for her. With focus, she felt the currents around her, the water much more still here than it was on the surface.

Every heartbeat seemed magnified, a steady drum to count her time with. She could feel stone under her, massive and calm, and smaller pieces, floating about, but none felt right. Algae waved softly from the right and she veered away from them before they could touch her skin. Disgusting, floaty, slimy things. No, thank you.

Heart beating in her throat and ears told her half-time of what her lungs had to offer had nearly passed. The stone was still quiet, almost comforting, but she needed more than that. Making her strides longer, half walking, half swimming, she went farther into the dark. Tiny stones whirled around her, forcing her to close her eyes. The current seemed to be getting stronger here and she had to be careful not to get swept up in it. When her toes closed around stone this time, she felt the tell-tale pull of _new, different_ , that preluded a find. Excitement shooting through her, she moved forward. The current wasn’t that close. She just needed to be faster.

And- there! In the dark blue, something moved past her, dragged by the current. Her hand shot out and grasped something. Not a stone, she knew immediately. It wasn’t hard enough for a shell, so her token wouldn’t be a pearl either. It was large enough that she couldn’t quite close her hand around it. She pulled it towards her, against the forces of the water, and it was heavy. Confusion warred with her need for air. She could let it go and try again, but would she find something fast enough? The stone underneath her was still singing. Her fingers loosened.

A wall of water hit her, instinct making her hand clamp back on her find. If the currents were this wild this far down, the storm must be getting worse. Decision made, she turned around, one arm cradling her anchoring stone, the other dragging her find. Whatever it was, it was heavy enough that her arm dragged backwards, straining against the water. Her strength was running out, as was her time. In a split decision, she let go of her anchor stone and pushed herself off the ocean floor with all her might. Her free arm had to be enough to drag her upwards, feet kicking vehemently. Just when she thought she’d faint – her friends wouldn’t let her hear the end of that ever – her head broke the surface and she could open her eyes.

Her fears were confirmed when she couldn’t make out the beach quickly enough. The waves had grown in her time underneath, and wind howled against her, the only spot of non-water. Desperately stretching her stone sense, she reached for the familiarity of home, for anything that could give her direction, and to her relief, she found it. Arms and lungs burning, she propelled herself towards it. It was nearly over. She only had to reach the beach. Only some swimming strokes.

One, kick, two, breath, one, kick, two, breath.

Small counting units blurred together, but they could be counted, and that was the important thing. At last, at last, her feet hit ground and the exhilaration she felt gave her a boost to run until no more waves were licking around her.

Her ceremony party was coming towards her, cheering, and then slowed, cheers getting lost to the wind.

Sarnai frowned. She’d done well, hadn’t she? Confused gazes slid behind her, and she realized she was still holding on to, well, what exactly? Thundering heartbeat in her ears, she turned, raising her arm – to see a very, very strange shoe.

She blinked. Her hand was clenched around a calf. Muscle and bone, feeling very real. 

The- The _body_ was upside down, limbs dangling in the wind.

“Sarnai!” Ganbaatar’s voice made her jump, jerking the body.

The muscles in the throat contracted wildly. Water sprayed out of its mouth and nose with terrible choking sounds Sarnai had never heard.

And then its eyes _opened_.

Sarnai jumped back, hand letting go as if she was a dwarrow babe burned by the forge for the first time. The eyes, wide and rolling, found hers. There was sheer panic in them. She could barely hear the clamour of the voices around her over the struggling breaths of it. Its eyes wouldn’t let go of her and her hand stretched out towards it out of its own volition.

Energy, pure energy, crackled in the air, and Ganbaatar bellowed a warning, but Sarnai couldn’t move. She could see fissures of light coming down, branching and branching, infinitely, into smaller pieces. The air smelt like rain, like the sea, and like burning energy which was branching ever downwards. Towards the body.

And then the spear tip of light rammed into its chest, exploding into light so bright she couldn’t see anything but brightness.

The body bounced.

Once, twice, like a rag doll in the maw of a dog, it hit the ground on its feet. It swayed, eyes and mouth open, burning light around it and within it. She saw the brightness retract slowly, branch for branch, a pale image of it burned into her eyes. In reality it was barely more than a moment, and the body slumped, her own hands reaching out before it hit the ground again. Crackling residue of energy bit her arms with flaming heat, but all she could do was stare.

The eyes were now shut.

She saw Ganbaatar’s wrinkled hands come close, hovering, then decidedly pressing against a thin neck. And slowly, sound filtered in, over the howling of the wind, the crashing of the waves, the worried shouts of her family, she heard Ganbaatar’s voice, astonishment ringing like a judgement bell.

“The Mudtakrâsh-gamil… is _alive_.”

* * *

Flames. A hundred thousand wasps stinging at once. Every single nerve screaming, every muscle straining.

Bright, so bright. Darkness. Comfort. Then pain again. Less darkness, now sound. Dark and quiet, retract into comfort. Slowly, slowly, more light than darkness.

She blinked.

How strange, she realized, blinking meant eyes. Feeling rushed in, and knowledge of every bit of body she possessed, and it was all in _agony_. She blinked again. Her throat hurt too, she thought, while horrid moans were made in her larynx. Or pharynx? Which one was making the noise?

A face above her, a low voice. She should answer but her everything seemed unwilling to cooperate. Her perspective tilted and her lips were wet. Ah, drinking. She knew that, too. Her trachea was filled with something that was not air. Coughing. Spluttering. Adrenaline. The voice, rhythmic, soothing. Right. Breathe, breathe. She could do that. She was very tired and breathing seemed okay, so she went back into the darkness.

She woke.

She knew she was awake and had a body and she was in pain, but mostly, she was just awake.

It was quiet, no voice, no wet against her lips. She was in a bed. The ceiling above her was stone, hewn into a half… circle? No, dome, with lights in glass cases. Lanterns. She liked lanterns. Looking at the light, merrily flickering, she remembered the other light, surging through her.

She gasped, jerking up. The water. The cliff, then the water, then, then, a face? And then light and flame.

Her eyes flickered from side to side, taking in her surroundings. The bed was tucked into a corner of a large room with other beds, all empty and tidily made. On the opposite end, big shelves were seemingly carved into the wall. They were filled to the brim with jars, bottles and boxes.

There was a desk and a chair. It was quiet.

Focusing on her breathing, Maeve found some part of her brain was awake enough to take inventory. She could feel every single body part. All of it was in pain, but then, that didn’t mean much. She grasped the edge of the blanket covering her. It looked rough, like those rustic hand-made things you could get at markets sometimes. Her fingers took their sweet time to start cooperating, but after a few tries, she managed to flip the blanket back. All remaining limbs still attached, how nice.

Also, she was in her underwear. Any thought about why she wasn’t in a hospital gown flew out the second she saw her torso. A thin layer of a greenish gel had been slathered on her skin, but that didn’t hide the lines blooming on her skin. Starting from her sternum, lines of angry red skin raised and broke into fractals. They branched down into something like the image of a tree crown on her stomach. A closer look told her that the lines continued between her breasts but had not covered her nipples. That would have been a hell of a place to get a gigantic scar.

“Gnarly,” she breathed to herself because one, she had a gigantic new scar and two, no one was around to judge her slang choices. Which reminded her, she should probably alert the nurse on duty that she was awake. Years of practice had taught her that you didn’t do anything until the nurse cleared you.

She rolled over slightly, getting a look at the room. The bed she was in was obviously not standard hospital equipment, nothing was keeping her from falling out. While there was a bedside table, it was just that, a small table. No drawers, no foldout tray, and most importantly, no buttons to call medical staff. There was also no IV bag leading a needle into her hands. Her wrists were free of a bracelet with her info on it. Now that she could consciously think about it, having lanterns instead of fluorescent lights kind of seemed like a safety issue for a hospital.

So…maybe she wasn’t in a hospital? Maybe she’d washed up somewhere too remote to get her into an ambulance immediately? If the gel on her torso was any indication, she’d at least received some type of medical care. It was slightly cooling, if crunchy, sort of like a face mask. She hoped whoever had done this knew what they were doing.

With a wince, she sat up properly, nearly falling back down with dizziness. Right, slow and small steps. When she could dangle her legs over the ledge, her feet hit the ground nearly immediately. Definitely not a hospital. Beds were high enough for medical staff to reach and lift people.

On the definitely-just-a-table-table, her other clothes sat neatly folded. She didn’t bother with the tight sports bra when she had clearly fresh wounds, going for her rain jacket instead. It had been folded like a jumper which had her raise an eyebrow. Wouldn’t it have been easier to get her out of her clothes by opening it? Medical staff weren’t the types to hesitate to cut through clothes in emergencies.

Adding it on to the mental list of ‘Where the fuck am I’, she unzipped the jacket. That’s when she realised her prothesis was still securely attached to her arm, along with the plastic bag around it. “What the hell,” she said, blinking. Absolutely definitely not a hospital. Her skin was probably a mess under the material, and she thought she could hear sand in nooks and crannies where it didn’t belong. Playing it safe, she didn’t take it off though.

Getting the jacket on had her out of breath and sweating, muscles screaming like she’d had a workout from hell. Which, well. She’d nearly drowned. And then she’d seen someone, upside down, followed by blazing light and heat. Eyeing her torso, Maeve had to seriously consider the possibility that she’d come in contact with high voltage electricity.

Maybe she’d been washed up right into a generator or open line? It was weird how clear she could remember some things. Trauma should have just wiped the accident from her mind for the time being, right? Although she was probably in shock, given how apathetic she was to the idea of a near death experience.

None of this thinking was leading to answers and she kind of needed to pee. Being reasonably sure that there were no nurses around to piss off, she tried to stand up slowly. When that worked, she took another look around the room. There were two doors and she decided on the closest. With a hand propping her against the wall – stone, it felt too real to be imitation – she made her way towards it with muscles protesting in places she’d forgotten she had places.

The door seemed to be made out of stone too, smooth and grey, with fine white lines like paint in water crossing it top to bottom. It sat in massive metal hinges and the handle was heavy. It seemed to be made out of metal as well, as if a metal rod had been twisted into a triangular shape with finely detailed engravings running along the lines of the knot. It reminded Maeve of ornaments on Greek vases. This type of work screamed bespoke and handmade, so she was very careful touching it.

Despite how heavy the materials seemed, the door swung inward with relative ease and opened into the strangest bathroom Maeve had ever seen. The right side made sense. There were three doors spaced at generous intervals. To her left, water flowed merrily along the wall. Something like a mini aqueduct was hewn into the wall with levers paced at several feet apart above three sinks. The whole sink was slightly lower than usual bathrooms, probably in an attempt to make it accessible for wheelchair users. Something about the walls drew her in. It took a moment to realise they had been polished to a degree that they were reflective.

The light didn’t compare to actual light bulbs, but she could see how horrible she looked nonetheless. The heavy bangs of her auburn pixie were sticking up in several directions, circles were under her eyes and of course, her weird gel cast over the newly acquired scarring. Taking off the jacket, she really took it all in. If it wasn’t an angry red under a green gel, it could have looked like a cool tattoo.

The thought spurred her around to check her undercut. Its triangular shape was still there, as was the tattoo at the base of her skull. A Siberian tiger stretched its paws up playfully towards a rook with its wings unfurled, turned up in flight. They were encased on a round shape emulating clouds, a beautiful mesh of the individual blossoms of hibiscus and shamrock leaves. Neither were fully recognisable at a first look, avoiding a flat symbolism. The placement had been somewhat of a compromise. If she needed to be serious in a classic work environment, she could just let it grow out. Given that her job was all about her voice and not her appearance, she’d rocked the undercut for a while now.

What was new was the dark colouring underneath it on her vertebrae. She hissed at the sight. Every single one was dark, a line of bruises down her entire back, along with other more irregular bruises all over. She remembered seeing something similar in a documentary or an article about the invention of electricity. No wonder everything hurt when she looked like she’d been thrown in a meatgrinder.

Stepping away from the polished stone, Maeve gingerly put her jacket back on and resolutely decided to pee first, deal with the pain later. She was mildly distracted from her plan by the aesthetics of the room.

Everything seemed to be carved from the stone directly with no seams, and here the lanterns stood in big alcoves high above the ground. All around the room, a trim had been carved into the space where wall met ceiling. It recalled the designs from the door handle, the patterns seemed more like Nordic or Celtic designs had been an influence at this size. Despite the simplicity of it, it had an air of sophistication about it like a high-end hotel.

If they billed her rich people hotel amounts for staying in what apparently passed as their nurse’s room, she’d let her Irish health insurance fight it out with them. In the meantime, she’d take what she could get. The first door swung open easily enough. Again, the sound of flowing water greeted her. All three walls she could see had a bench carved out with holes. Several holes, like in Roman communal baths. Someone was taking it a bit far with the ancient architecture inspo.

She peered into one of the holes and saw nothing but darkness, the gurgling water much louder now. Thanks to her family’s constant travelling, this wasn’t the first time Maeve was confronted with a robust toilet situation. The trick was to think about pretty much anything else but she’d still much prefer some toilet paper to be visible anywhere. Since there seemed to be no such luck, she did her business while trying to remember all the ways she could clean up. Leaves, running water, cloth?

Peering around in the dim light, she realized that above each hole there was a lever. Not feeling too adventurous, she reached over to the one next to her, watching in fascination when just below the hole’s edge a small spring of water shot out in a strategic direction. A bidet. That she could deal with. The water was cool but not uncomfortably so, and taking a hint from the mechanics, the levers outside made much more sense.

There were no soap dispensers, and she didn’t even bother looking for sanitizer – not a hospital – so she vigorously washed her hands in a modest flow of water. Then she weighed her options. Go back or explore a bit? Maybe sound just didn’t filter through the stone and there was someone around? Curiosity had her peering into the second door which was left ajar. This room had three big tub-like holes carved at hip height, again with the levers. With some distance left against the wall, there were some bottles stored there. Maeve didn’t dare touch and sniff them, so she went to the third door.

Again, it opened easily enough. A cloud of steam hit her face and she clenched her eyes shut on instinct. After a moment, she blinked and the steam cleared a bit, leaving a slightly odd smell in the air. Over two thirds of the room had been carved into a tub, with steps leading downwards into it. Maybe five or six people would have room in there. It was full of water, steam rising form the surface. It seemed to be coming out of the walls, running down in little waterfalls. The smell had to be sulphur, she realised, remembering being dragged to some thermal bath as a child. She closed the door firmly and went back to the sinks, determined to wash the faint traces of smelly mist off.

Splashing some water on her face felt nice, but that was about the most hygiene she had energy for. She hobbled back to her bed and set to checking her prothesis. When she took it off, leftover water and sand sloshed on the floor but to her relief, it seemed just fine apart from the need of a vigorous scrub. The skin on her right up to her elbow had had a rougher time being irritated from the elements, but overall seemed fine too.

In lieu of better options, she used the corner of the blanket to clean off the worst so she could put it on again. It was a bit more of a struggle than usual with the state her body was in but given that she still didn’t know where she was, it was better to keep everything as close as possible. She’d had her prothesis stolen once, about half a year after getting it, and it had become second nature to look out for it. After a look at the other door and the still empty desk, she fumbled on her leggings and socks which also could use a wash. How she hadn’t lost a shoe in the water was beyond her. Even her sunglasses were there.

“Okay, this is starting to get ridiculous.” While not in the habit of talking out loud, hearing her own voice was slightly reassuring. A clump started to form in her stomach. Everything just felt off. Like walking into a room and not noticing that someone had moved all of the furniture by exactly two centimetres.

“If this is some weird hidden camera show, I do not consent to anyone filming me or airing whatever you’ve filmed so far,” her voice was cracking from disuse, but she somehow summoned the force to sound relatively assured. No answer, no noise. She tried again, in English. Some lanterns flickered. The clump seemed to wander from her stomach to her throat. She swallowed heavily.

“Right. The door it is.”

Pacing herself, she carefully made her way over the long way round, always close to a wall or bed in case she’d overestimated her energy levels. Just a couple steps in front of her goal, she could hear muffled sound filtering in, too unclear to pinpoint. The sound insulation must be extravagant given that she was in what amounted to a massive stone hole. Just when she reached out for the handle, a though jolted through her. What if she had been kidnapped? She had absolutely no way of defending herself. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know anything about her situation.

“Holy shit,” she breathed shallowly, repeating the words like a mantra, frozen on the spot. She needed to move, maybe grab something she could use to throw, she needed to do _anything at all_. But she was frozen, sluggishly mouthing ‘holy shit, holy shit, holy shit’ like the words made sense. Blood rushed in her ears with the roar of a river, muting everything else and she belatedly realised that the noise from outside was getting louder.

The door banged opened with such force the stone had to be cracked. It bounced back harmlessly, revealing a person shouting something over their shoulder, turned away from Maeve. The individual seemed shorter than her but double as wide, with thick arms and broad hands balancing a stack of cloth and a tray.

When they turned their head, she saw masses of grey hair tied back in a complicated knot, a sort of chain circlet made out of jade and pearls and a beard braided and bejewelled in such a unique way that all her panic gave way to stunned gaping. A long open tunic in smoky grey made out of what seemed like linen trailed over a grey-blue tinted shirt. It was held together by a twisted metal chain just above a heavy chest and round stomach.

Both garments had heavy embroidery on the seams and collar close to the geometric style she’d seen so far. The wrapping style of the shirt and coat vaguely remembered her of a hanbok, but it was uniquely its own. Dark trousers showed off powerful thighs despite how loose they were, and heavy, well-worn leather boots finished the whole ensemble off. It was such a wild departure from both doctors and hotel uniforms that Maeve could only blink.

The person had tawny skin with pink cheeks that spoke of an active life and deep wrinkles around narrow, sharp eyes and a round mouth. Their gaze settled on Maeve with clarity and sharpness that belied any age their face showed. Their bushy eyebrows flew up.

Under sudden scrutiny, any thought of danger was replaced by useless air in her brain and Maeve just waved.

“Ah.” Their voice was gruff with age, but their lips twitched slightly upward. They let off a string of rapid questions while carrying their cargo to the desk. At least Maeve thought that those were questions because that sure wasn’t Korean.

“Uh, sorry, come again?” she asked. They frowned slightly, repeating whatever it was slower this time.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Would you mind repeating that, please?” she used her most polite voice. They blinked at her. A wild thought jolted through her mind.

“You’re not speaking Korean, are you.” No recognition. Weird. Right, wasn’t the first time she had to guess her way through a multilingual conversation.

Maeve repeated herself in English, slowly and in the most general received pronunciation she could muster. Regional dialects and variations like her Irish English tended to confuse people with little contact to native speakers. Again, a frown, this time with the head cocked to the side.

“Do you speak English? Do you speak Korean?”

They answered this time, slowly and just as tentatively as Maeve. It was a rolling, slightly melodic language, like a mix of Spanish, Irish and Persian, but not a single word sounded familiar. Her heart started racing. Had she somehow been washed up to Japan or somewhere else away from the Korean coast?

“Is this Japan? Uhm, Nippon?”

The short individual seemed to think, then gestured for Maeve to sit on her bed. Now jumpy, she barely touched the edge of it but obediently sat still while they muttered something under their breath, pulling out a book, quickly checking for something. Then they came over and gestured to Maeve’s head. Unsure what to do, she nodded stiffly.

“It feels fine considering the circumstances.”

They slowly raised their hands, giving her time to see them approaching, and then held her face. Turning her head this way and that, they prodded at her skull as if looking for something. The old ‘follow the finger with your eyes’ transcended language. It seemed she was getting checked for a concussion or some skull trauma.

“I’m so sorry, but do you speak Spanish? Mandarin?” She started listing off every single semi-global language she could think off, sometimes in their own language, sometimes in the ones she spoke.

Finally, they person sat back with a deep frown and a huff as if Maeve had personally offended them. That was familiar territory, doctors didn’t like it when their patients didn’t present textbook symptoms. So Maeve bit the inside of her cheek, smiled politely and tapped her own chest.

“Maeve Ji-Su Bae Doyle. You?” She extended her finger in their direction. Finally, some recognition. “Me-evedjisoo?” “Maeve Ji-Su, yes.” She enunciated as clearly as she could.

They tapped their own nose. This close up, Maeve could see a couple of liver spots on the back of their hand.

“Ganbaatar túwatara pri Meli.” Then they seemed to reconsider, watching Maeve intently. “Ganbaatar _nâthu_ Meli.”

“Ganbaata tu-nathu Meli?” She scrambled to remember the unfamiliar sounds. Whatever reaction Ganbaatar had been expecting, this wasn’t it, and they rubbed their forehead.

“Ganbaatar,” they nodded with a weak smile.

“Ganbaatar, do you have a phone?” Maeve made the universal gesture of holding a phone up to her ear and did a motion of texting on top. “I just need to get in contact with my family.”

Ganbaatar squinted, clearly trying to understand but with no recognition setting in. They moved to the desk and Maeve’s heart sank. Had she been found by the only people who didn’t know what a phone was? Now that she thought about it, there were absolutely no signs of electricity. The lack of plumbing and hospital gear. Was this a community like the Amish in the US? Or that one island where a helicopter had been attacked by arrows and there had been no contact made with the people shooting them, to modern knowledge at least?

Something hot was pressed into her hands. She blinked at the stone bowl, filled to the brim with a clear liquid that smelled aromatic and savoury. Small bubbles of fat swam on top, and she detected bits of green. Jerked from her thoughts, she saw Ganbaatar pull her side table closer, placing the tray on it. There was a slim, high cup, also from stone, and a wooden spoon.

Utterly unsure, her mind kept jumping back to her thoughts of kidnapping and other horrors. If she hadn’t been drugged before, now would be the perfect opportunity. Something must have shown on her face because Ganbaatar took the bowl and took a sip from it, then motioned a circle over their stomach and sighed in exaggerated satisfaction. It was such a wooden but heartfelt performance that Maeve couldn’t repress a giggle. She was being coached on how to eat like a toddler and the whole situation was ridiculous enough, might as well. She took a slurping sip, mindful of the heat. Ganbaatar nodded in satisfaction and went back to their back, heavily plopping into the chair.

The liquid tasted like fish and herbs and while Maeve sipped, she decidedly did not think about anything but the broth. She made a game out of it. What flavours were in there besides fish? She couldn’t tell at all, but the greens were cooked to the point where she barely had to press against them with her tongue for them become mush in her mouth. When she finished, she took the cup and sipped carefully. Clear water, it seemed, and she could feel Ganbaatar watching, so she dutifully took some small sips before putting it back unsteadily, sloshing some of the liquid.

The warmth in her belly seemed to spread slowly through her body, up into her face, dragging her eyelids down heavily. The shout of alarm from Ganbaatar when Maeve tilted forward somehow set her mind at ease and she slipped into the soft comfort of sleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maeve's tattoo style is like this incredible work: https://www.instagram.com/pitta_kkm/
> 
> Khuzdul frankensteined together from resources from The Dwarrow Scholar. I've no idea what I'm doing there, sorry for nonexisting grammar, I'll just pretend it means what I want it to mean  
> \- Mudtakrâsh gamil – literally: token old – meaning here: token of becoming old/adult  
> -nâthu - daughter of
> 
> The 'Westron' is just stolen from Hittite bc Indo-European just made sense to me (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indo-European_vocabulary#Kinship)  
> \- túwatara - daughter  
> -pri - forth

**Author's Note:**

> I started with a very different concept of this when I was like 14/15. Now it's a good decade later and my brain needed something to latch on to while the world is burning, so comfort food fanfic it is. This will be tropes I love with a bit of world building.  
> I'm neither Irish nor Korean, I'm also a disabled person, though not an amputee, so I hope my research is good enough. If you have feedback for either, let me know!  
> I really hope you enjoy, I haven't written in a long time :)


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